e rainbow will return,
And the Spring will come once more;
But the fair whose flight we mourn,
Walks on Death's Elysian shore.

LOVE SONG.

My heart is newly gushing,
With love for thee, with love for thee,
With thoughts as wild and wasteful,
As yonder sea, as yonder sea.

Oh yes! my soul is wretched
With longing pain, with longing pain,
It gives a ceaseless moaning,
Like yonder main, like yonder main.

Thy strange and matchless beauty,
Is like the sea, is like the sea;
Thy face in love or anger,
Is sweet to me, is sweet to me.

Thy maiden soul is precious
As yonder deep, as yonder deep,
Within its glassy clearness,
Bright jewels sleep, bright jewels sleep.

Thy sinless mind resembles
Yon deep, blue sea, yon deep, blue sea;
The glorious things of heaven
Are seen in thee, are seen in thee.

Oh main! as some poor sailor
Is lost in thee, is lost in thee,
My soul is lost in sighing,
No hope for me, no hope for me.

PARTING SONG.

We meet with smiles, we part in tears;
This is our earthly lot,
We cannot find a place on earth,
Where friends have parted not.
And oh! it is the saddest thought,
That we no more may meet,
That we may see their face no more,
Whose friendship was so sweet.

We meet with smiles, we part in tears,
But Mem'ry long will bring,
Their image in our waking thoughts,
A blest and sacred thing:
And we shall pause amid the crowds,
Where we are strangers now;
And deeply think of what has been,
Till grief will shade our brow.

Till grief will shade our aching brow,
And tears will freely flow,
Till we shall weep, as we have wept,
O'er friends now sleeping low;
For, who may tell, if e'er again,
Those friends shall meet our gaze;
Who've wander'd forth from all our love,
Where Death's dark angel strays?

THE SONG OF MAY.

To mountains hoar and russet plain,
A joyous sprite, I come again;
With many a sweet and joyous strain,
And break grim winter's icy chain.

From yon blue chambers far above,
On brilliant wings, I lightly move;
I come, and lead the cooing dove,
And all the choir that fill the grove.

To leafy wild, and city's hum,
The queen of joy, I come, I come;
The little rills no more are dumb;
But hail me, as I come, I come.

With breath that glads both land and main,
I come again, I come again!
On hillside, bank, and level plain,
The flowers appear, in beauteous train.

To blooming land